“It’s about time you got back.” A burly middle-aged man stepped out of the woods, uncovering a lantern. The light revealed his big red beard and curly hair. A coarse brown vest strained over his broad chest. “My wife was about to march into town to start busting heads.”
“I have returned unscathed, and I brought a friend.”
The curse painter shifted against Archer’s back, peeking out at the newcomer.
“Briar, the curse painter, meet Lew of Twickenridge. He’s the brawn of this operation.”
“A bruiser with a poet’s soul.” Lew bowed, putting a large freckled hand over his heart.
“I told you I’m supposed to be the brawn.” Another figure appeared in the circle of lantern light. Younger even than Archer, the lad was well on the way to being as burly as Lew, but his big shoulders and round face still carried plenty of baby fat. His patchwork coat looked decidedly rumpled.
“This is Nat. Errand boy, all-purpose foot soldier, and yes, future brawn.”
“Are you supposed to be the brain?” Briar asked Archer dryly.
“That would be Lew’s wife, Jemma,” Archer said. “She planned our little quest. I’m the charm.”
Nat snickered and whispered something to Lew behind his pudgy hand. The older man chuckled, making the lantern shake.
“About this quest,” Briar said. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”
“You have anywhere else to be?” Archer asked. “Some other hovel to attend to?”
Briar stiffened. Then she swung down from the horse, straightened her skirt, and turned deliberately into the woods.
“I meant no offense,” Archer called, dismounting too. He’d thought they’d started to build a rapport on their ride through the woods, but apparently the loss of everything she had in the world still smarted.
“I thought you were supposed to be the charm,” Nat muttered then ducked the loose fist Archer swung at him.
Briar paused where the pool of lantern light met the trees. “I’m already on the wrong side of the law. I can’t afford to fall in with a bunch of criminals. Unless you intend to keep me here against my will?”
Lew bristled at the implication, and Archer raised a soothing hand toward the girl, as if she were a skittish woodland creature. He knew what she was capable of when threatened.
“Of course not, but if you want to leave, you might as well do it with a full belly and sunny skies.”
“It’s not easy getting back to town in the dark,” Nat said. “I twisted my ankle last time I tried it.”
Lew snorted. “That’s because you’re a lubber.”
“Yes, but he’s a brawny lubber,” Archer said. He took a slow step toward the curse painter. “Won’t you hear us out at least?”
Briar hesitated, the lantern light flickering in her eyes. Archer feared she would march into the darkness and disappear forever, but she looked at the dry paint on her hands and clothes, useless now, and her shoulders slumped.
“I don’t think I’d be welcomed back to this village anyway.”
“It’s settled, then,” Archer said. “You’ll eat a hot meal and listen to our plan, and if you don’t take the job, you’ll be free to go. I’ll even give you my horse come morning.”
Briar nodded, and Archer felt a surprisingly powerful surge of relief.
He gestured to the path ahead with a flourish. “Shall we?”
The four made their way deeper into the woods, relying on Lew’s lantern to avoid the roots choking the path. Branches crackled under their feet, and a sudden rustle suggested they’d startled a deer from its hiding place. The stolen horse snorted contemptuously. Soon they reached a dense thicket, where blackberry bushes grew taller than a man. Two sycamore trees leaned toward each other, marking the spot and creating a spooky, tangled canopy.
Nat hurried forward to pull aside the bundle of branches serving as a door and revealed a tunnel opening directly into the mass of thorny bushes.
“Welcome home,” the boy said to the curse painter, attempting a flourish that looked suspiciously like Archer’s. An eager smile split his round face, ruining the effect.
Briar glanced at Archer, her expression unreadable, before following Nat into the tunnel.
“Any trouble today?” Archer asked Lew quietly as they walked beneath the sycamore trees, drawing the stolen horse behind them.
The older man shook his head. “A few hunters passed nearby yesterday, but Nat lured them away before they got too near the hideout. The lad can do quite the pheasant impression.”
“Excellent.”
This was one of their favorite lairs whenever they were in Barden County, and no one but squirrels had ever found it. Archer needed their lucky streak to last just a little while longer.
The smell of burnt stew reached them a second before they exited the tunnel. A blazing campfire, a patch of bare earth, and a dozen horses awaited them at the center of what would look like an impenetrable mass of thorns and brambles to passersby. They’d made a fair bit of noise on their way through the thicket, especially with the horse in tow, and the last two members of Archer’s team were expecting them.
“It’s about time.” Lew’s wife, Jemma, faced them across the campfire with her hands on her hips. A red shawl was folded across her chest, and her golden hair threaded with gray was coming loose from her braid in wisps. “I’d need a whole new plan if you got yourself captured again.”
“Aw, you’d have rescued me, Jem,” Archer said. “Lew says so.”
“I have my hands full with one rescue mission as it is.” Jemma shot a glance at her husband, who shrugged his burly shoulders. “Stealing gold is a lot easier than stealing people.”
“The gold from the reward is ten times our best haul,” Archer said. “It’ll be worth the extra trouble.”
“Plus the bonus,” called Nat. The boy sprawled in front of the fire and kicked off his dirty boots.
“You got that right,” Archer said.
Lew grimaced as Nat began picking at his patched woolen socks. “Do you have to do that by the food?”
Nat shrugged and reached for his boots again.
Lew sighed and took
